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I drew this picture on Thanksgiving, which thanks to my lovely sister-in-law, had delicious food and a beautifully set table. I have no complaints about almost everyone in the whole family! Isn’t life interesting and complex! How boring life would be if everything were just easy all the time, and if everyone were just on the same page about how to act on special family occasions, don’t you agree? Anyway, dear Aunt Perstephone, this picture is for you, because you made everything so nice, and because you laughed when you saw me drawing and said that my drawings made everything look as if they were dancing. XOXOXO.

I’m eating oatmeal while child #2, the chef, is saying, “You know what would be delicious? Pancakes. You know what I want? Pancakes. You know what I wish someone would make me? Pancakes.” Father says, “There’s a package of pancake mix on the top shelf.”

“Pancakes pancakes pancakes.” says child. “Pancakes with a capital P. I want twenty tiny little pancakes that look like cereal but aren’t.” The rain is pouring down and he has a long nasty wait for the bus ahead of him to get into the city. It makes me sad, thinking of how many years I spent waiting at the same bus stop, rain pouring down the back of my legs, into my shoes. I’m more sorry for myself than the annoyance running around the kitchen.

“If only there were someone in this house who could cook.” I say. Child cooks at top restaurant in Manhattan. The other day when he was less annoying, he cooked us breakfast. Poached eggs that were lightly toasted in Panko and Afghan lamb spices, then fried, and served on top of sauteed brussel sprouts. “Poke the eggs so they go right on the sprouts,” he said.

How do you fry poached eggs? It’s like frying air. But they were delicious.

Okay, he started making the pancakes. He puts the mix into a small plastic bag, then cuts off the corner. “Piping bag!” he says. So fancy.

Husband says that he has to drink coffee or he’ll have organ failure. He read it in an article and it’s science.

“Big coffee’s feedin’ you a lie,” says child.

Child finishes his pancakes. They are the size of a quarter each.

So, a week ago, I woke up very confident about the state of this country. It was a beautiful Tuesday. September 11 was another beautiful Tuesday. The rain is drilling into the skylights.

Right now it seems very hard to want to leave this cozy little house with these crazy little people.

After reading the book Americanah by Chiminanda Ngozie Adizie, I was reintroduced to some of the ideas that have been floating around in my head. One of them came from poking around on Reddit. I forget the exact section /race? /African American? Those of you who like to poke through Reddit know how rich but infuriating that website can be. There was a question by a black woman who had noted that she had read a study about how in dating, white men preferred white, Hispanic and Asian women; black men preferred white, Hispanic and Asian women, and basically the big losers were Asian men and black women. She asked a question of incredible poignancy: Is it really true that nobody sees black women as attractive? This question made me want to cry. I think of the incredible individuality of the African-American women I know, their strength, their character, their humor, and their beauty. (Of course some people are jerks in any group, but since I don’t hang out with jerks, I don’t care.) It seems unbelievable to me that anyone should have to ask that ugly, ugly question, to have those self-doubts.

About a year ago, I made a vow to draw at least one picture a day. I usually draw them in my journal, but sometimes in art books, notebooks, whatever. I took photos of a bunch of the pictures and I thought I had more drawings that showed black women, but this is all I have for now. I draw people’s faces as often as I can. I am far from a professional artist, drawing is just a hobby, but one of the things I’ve noticed is that people’s faces are actually very, very similar. A big fat white man and a skinny black women both have eyes, noses, teeth, hair, etc. It is in small details that the differences come out. I love the individuality of the faces I see on the subway, when I get together with people I care about. I draw all kinds of people, but I wanted to share four illustrations of black women whose faces I loved drawing and observing. May they find love. May they be seen for the beauty that is their birthright as human beings.

This beautiful professor gave a lecture at the Jung Society.

Um, sorry, crappy photo of a beautiful human.

Woman on subway. I loved her braids.

Proper lady with great hat on a cold day. And bonus: Two beautiful black men.